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by PotionsMistressM



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionsMistressM/pseuds/PotionsMistressM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leia contemplates her fate</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

*HOME*  
It was never my intention to be perceived as such a bitch. The Ice Princess. I know that's what they call me. Most of them are at least kind enough to do it behind my back. Sometimes when people get to know me- at least as much as I let be known- they ask me why I think it is that people think of me the way they do, I'm tempted to tell them the truth. Either that or point out that not so long ago they too were referring to me as "Her Royal Pain in the Ass." But I never do either. I smile and tell the lie I've almost convinced myself to believe. People always harbor slight ill-will toward their bosses; it's human nature. So when I give an order and don't say "please" or refuse to mince my words when reprimanding a suboordinate, I become a bitch. The Ice Princess.  
There are few here who remember that I was not always like this. Some of them remember the stately yet laid-back Leia. Some of them remember a time when my nights off were spent relaxing and laughing with them instead of spending them in my rooms "strategizing." Some of them knew a Leia who knew how to laugh and love and have fun. Those people probably have some idea why I became like this, though I've never discussed it with any of them. Mom Mothma tried once, after it first happened, but I had been in no mood for a surrogate mother. I know they all think it's mourning or grief or even pure,clean desire for vengeance running through my cold, cold heart. I know some of them think it's simply the stress of war. But no matter what they think they know, they all have one thing in common. They all think it's time to get over it. Oh, they'd never say it, but I can see it in their eyes. I am a commanding presence and a brilliant leader. No one challenges that, and that is why they put up with my pissy attitude. Maybe they think that one day it'll get better, and maybe they're right, but for now, their lack of sympathy irritates me even more. Though I know sympathy would be just as grating.  
There is only one person in my life who knows the truth, though Luke's increasing ability to read my mind is more than a little off-putting. No, Luke has no clue. In fact, he's the first to defend me when anyone jokes or when Han gets on my case. For some reason, Luke's never been able to see that side of me, and for all I know I may bever have shown it to him. It's not something I can control or turn on or off. For some reason I've always felt oddly comfortable with Luke. I can't pretend with him, and I have a feeling he'd know if I ever tried. But still I believe he doesn't really know why I'm like this. It's impractical, what with all his Jedi powers, but the thought helps me hold on even harder to _him_.  
And I cling to him like my life depends on it. I guess in a way it does. From the minute I met him I somehow knew. He would understand. He would listen. And he understands in a way that makes my heart break for him. He understands how it feels to be an orphan. He knows how it feels to be homeless. I know he understands the restlessness and emptiness of having no real place to lay his head.  
He knows without asking why I am the way I am. Why I feel the way I feel. He's never questioned my need for him, not even that first night when I knocked on his door, shaking with repressed emotion but unwilling to cry in front of the troops- the Ice Princess to the end. But when he opened the door, I fell into his arms, and in his arms is where I've spent almost every night since. I sneak back to my rooms in the middle of the night when the only people awake are on watch, and out of viewing distance.  
We've never discussed the publicity of our relationship, and though we're not ashamed of each other, I think we both cherish having something uniquely ours. We hold each other with a kind of manic possessiveness- like children long denied toys who've finally gotten their dirty little hands on something beautiful and clean. Somehow, if someone else knew about what we have it would be different, less special. Perhaps that's just a sign of our weakness and immaturity; maybe that's the real reason we've never told anyone. Who would approve of us anyway? They'd write us off as puppy love or sanctuary or just plain, old-fashioned lust. But we're more than any of those things. I know we're more than that. But even if we know it, who else would believe it?  
I can't help the way I treat him; he's so damn cocky and irritating. It always starts with a single joke or jab of a comment, but I find that in my current state of mind I don't have much of a sense of humor, and I snap back. He's as hot-headed as I am, though, and even if we infuriate each other, we never stay mad for long.  
He knows why I am the way I am and why, even though it's his favorite form of mockery, I get so upset when he brings up my royal background. But I know he has to do it. We both have to- we're so incredibly self-conscious. He must hide behind his smug bravado, and I behind my cold, calculated regality. It's only at night, in his arms, in his bed, that I am not this cold, hard bitch. I remember who I am- who I really am- when he whispers my name, his breath hot against my skin as his lips graze my collarbone, throat, and earlobe. And though he's never told me, I know he finally feels like he's found home when he's with me. I know I've found my home, too, and I moan his name as if staking my claim.  
"Han..."


End file.
